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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23064862">A jester's dreams</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotatoPIerrot/pseuds/PotatoPIerrot'>PotatoPIerrot</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Promare (2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, OC narrator - Freeform, POV First Person</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 07:49:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,300</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23064862</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotatoPIerrot/pseuds/PotatoPIerrot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Lio left to wander the deserts after the events of the movie, accompanied by no one but the voice in his head.</p>
<p>*a very self indulgent somewhat self insert fic based on a dream i once had lmao</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A jester's dreams</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>ive gone through the first draft maybe two times?? before deciding i didnt want to put so much effort into something i started writing for shits and giggles f;aksjd</p>
<p>there are many things left vague and not quite making complete sense because i wanted to keep the dream-like quality!! and no i do not accept criticism for the sheer number of times i babied wio and called him little i will wield my powers however i want hhh</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I was what one might call a voice in his head. I was perhaps his guardian angel or imaginary friend, perhaps simply a wandering spirit who got attached. Perhaps I am all but a sentient narrator. I do not know.</p>
<p>All I do know is my purpose. I was born for his sake alone, the boy named Lio Fotia.</p>
<p>He was just a little thing when we first met, barely standing up to his parents’ knees, eyes always so wide and bright with fascination for all the world has to offer. He loved, and was loved fiercely in return.</p>
<p>Yet he was lonely, in a way that no one but him could understand. It gnawed relentlessly at his little heart, and I came into being to shield him from it. Staying with him and protecting him was my sole purpose, the only reason I existed.</p>
<p>I watched over him as he grew up, as he grew to need me a lot less. I could see why; he’d found peace in where he is, found people who held him dear. It was then that I slipped into a slumber, knowing he was in good hands, knowing he could now take care of himself even without me. I slept, for years and years.</p>
<p>Until one day.</p>
<p>I was forcefully awakened, assaulted by the sheer intensity of his emotions. It dragged me under and drowned me; his fear, his anguish, his despair. I was helpless, he had not given me the power face them, nor had I developed such ability of my own during the time I spent dormant. I could do nothing but experience it all alongside him, our screams and cries blending into one. This was the moment Lio Fotia lost everything, the moment flames erupted within his slender body and never stopped burning.</p>
<p>It was the moment the countless voices invaded his mind, utterly overpowering that of my own. <em>Burn, let us burn more and more and more, </em>they insisted. And <em>no, you can’t control it well yet, it’ll only hurt you,</em> I’d desperately try to tell him to no avail. He could no longer hear me, the wails of the flames were too loud, too insistent. I, who was once a protector, was now a mere observer.</p>
<p>The flames burnt him and he let them, convinced that it was his new reason of being. Perhaps it is the only way he thought he could cope, the only way he knew how to move on. They tore his body down, but they also constantly healed him from scratch. Lio wandered, and I watched as he learnt to befriend the embers and control the powers they offered him.</p>
<p>I watched as the boy who once shone like the moon in the night sky, who once had smiles brighter that any afternoon sun, gradually learned to keep his emotions under a tight lid. He saw what happened to people like him who also harbored flames, and he took it upon himself to lead and guide them to safety. As such, he decided he could not afford to show any signs of weakness. Lio Fotia must be always be calm, charismatic, and in control. It did not matter that he was still a child himself, it did not matter that he had placed the weight of the world upon his own shoulders—as long as he could be the beacon of hope the Burnish needed.</p>
<p>I watched as that weight almost crushed him, and kept watching as he gritted his teeth through it all.</p>
<p>The flames grew to adore him. They eventually stopped trying to run rampant on their own, instead sweetly making requests they knew Lio would grant. They rewarded him with their own delight, channeling it to him to create the illusion that he too, found relief in sparking fires. I could do nothing to convince him otherwise; it was how he found solace in his circumstances.</p>
<p>I watched as little Lio fell in a sudden, raging love. The boy was a firefighter from the city he often went to burn in retaliation to what the government there does to his comrades. Loud, obnoxious, flashy. Tended to speak without thinking, wholly accepted the fact that he’s an idiot. But to him, Lio was just Lio. Nothing more, nothing less.</p>
<p>I saw a bit of the Lio of the past when they were together. The mischief, the temper, the unrestrained brattiness that had made him so infinitely charming. Galo Thymos took the pretenses Lio had created as leader of the Mad Burnish, chewed them up, and spat them out onto the pavement. To him, they were equals. Just people who happen to cross paths, just people who happened to be tasked with saving the world together.</p>
<p>And it was something Lio has been silently wishing for since the start. Someone to see him for who he is, in all his weaknesses and flaws. Someone to share the burden on his shoulders. Someone to save him, in a sense.</p>
<p>Which is why I could not understand why he still chose to leave. They had finally sent the flames back to where they are from, had prevented the world from imploding and had exposed a corrupt government. It was time to heal, to settle down and recover. The long battle Lio has been fighting had finally come to an end.</p>
<p>Yet he had chosen to once again wander, under a reasoning no one but him could fathom. Perhaps he yearned for time alone, perhaps he saw the isolation as a form of penance. Even I could only venture guesses. He’ll be back in about a year, he promised when all who cared for him voiced their objections. He will be travelling on foot, he would not wander far. Just give him that bit of time to be away, to breathe. It’s okay, he will surely return.</p>
<p>And so he set off, and so I followed. We ventured into the deserts once more, trekking through the sand through days that seemed countless. Lio sometimes lived off food and water salvaged from long-abandoned marts, sometimes hunted, sometimes revisited old campsites he knew would have resources to sustain him just a little longer. At times, I could hardly bear to observe. This was no different from how it used to be—it was in fact even more difficult. The Promare had given him mobility, weapons, protection. The Lio now only had himself, and the powerless voice in his head.</p>
<p><em>You do not have to do this,</em> I told him time and again. <em>There is no need to put yourself through this. </em></p>
<p>And he did not listen. He did not hear.</p>
<p>Until one day, he called my name.</p>
<p>“___?”</p>
<p>I had not heard of it for so many years; it sounded slightly alien even from him. Though I was surprised that he finally sensed my presence after all this while, my response was calm.</p>
<p>“It is me.”</p>
<p>“Are you back?” he asked, and I thought I heard a hint of child-like hope in his voice. I hovered closer, knowing he cannot see me.</p>
<p>“Little one, I have never left,” I replied. It made him pause, then a tiny laugh escaped his lips.</p>
<p>“I haven’t been called that in years,” he said, subtly delightful. He stared at the fire he’d made to keep warm, gaze nostalgic. “How have you been?”</p>
<p>“I have been watching over you the entire time.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” he mumbled. “Even the time I had to eat desert bugs because they were all I could catch?”</p>
<p>“I thought they looked rather appetizing after being roasted.”</p>
<p>“They certainly looked better than they tasted,” Lio admitted, forlorn. He hugged his elbows, sighed. “So you’ve seen even my most unsightly moments.”</p>
<p>“There is nothing unsightly about survival,” I said. “You have done what you could in your circumstances.”</p>
<p>“That doesn’t mean I can be proud of it,” he said.</p>
<p>“That is true,” I agreed, “but that does not stop me from being proud of you.”</p>
<p>He smiled, a wry smile. “You were <em>created </em>to be proud of me.”</p>
<p>“I was created to <em>protect </em>you,” I corrected. “Yet I could not do anything for you when it mattered.”</p>
<p>“The voices of the Promare overpowered yours,” he guessed, sharp as always. He did not react much to my affirmation. “You couldn’t have done much then, nonetheless.”</p>
<p>“I could have spoken to you as I always did,” I maintained. “There is much comfort from the familiar in the foreign.”</p>
<p>“Maybe so,” he relented. “But you’re here right now, and I think it would make up for lost time.”</p>
<p>“I can only hope so.”</p>
<p>“You’re much too hard on yourself.”</p>
<p>“It is a quality you projected into me.”</p>
<p>The reminder amused him. He fiddled his fingers, absently twiddling his thumbs. “Do you want to know why I left?”</p>
<p>“I will only ask when you are ready to answer.”</p>
<p>“And if I'm never ready because I might never figure it out myself?”</p>
<p>“Then perhaps the reason would no longer matter.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps,” he agreed, though halfheartedly. It still weighed on him, I could tell. But he had all the time in the world to contemplate, there was no rush. I suggested that he got some rest, at least for the day. His travels had worn him down, he seemed like he might collapse at any moment.</p>
<p>Rest, there will be time for everything.</p>
<p>We spent the following days with an idle ease reminiscent of the past. He spoke, and I listened. He spoke of precious memories, of mischief and unlikely companionships, of hardships he had thought he could never overcome. Of the emotions he had hidden but instead felt them ten, fifty times stronger. Of the searing pain the fire could cause that he had, with no other choice, gotten used to. Of his regrets, his choices, his uncertainties.</p>
<p>“Do you think I've done what’s right?” is the question that would often slip out. Even though we both knew It was far too late for doubts.</p>
<p>“Did it feel right when you were doing it?” I would ask in return, and he would brood over his answer.</p>
<p>“It was the only thing I thought I could’ve done then,” he would eventually conclude, and that would end our discussion. He had not necessarily done the right thing, but he had definitely done his best. I was in no place to judge if what he did had been correct. His wellbeing and survival were more important to me than human moralities.</p>
<p>The seasons trickled past as we travelled without aim. The days remained hot, but the nights grew colder. The bonfires weren’t enough, and there were rarely materials lying about that Lio could use to help keep warm. He spent the nights huddled almost to a ball, shivering and shivering until slumber claimed him.</p>
<p>“It’s cold,” he once told me as he lay on the worn tarp he used as a bed, as though I would not know. “I haven’t felt like this since before I hosted the Promare.”</p>
<p>“Is it too difficult to bear?” I floated down and settled next to him, wishing for the millionth time that there was more I could do.</p>
<p>“It does not feel ideal, that’s for sure,” Lio admitted with a weak laugh. “I forgot how uncomfortable it is.”</p>
<p>“Would you let me help?” I dared to ask. He seemed to find my request entertaining.</p>
<p>“You are only a voice in my head,” he reminded me, mildly. It felt like he was reminding himself, too.</p>
<p>“I am what you want me to be.” I was not willing to let it go so easily. Not this time. “If you would let me, I can try something.”</p>
<p>His answer was devoid of expectations. “Then do whatever you want.”</p>
<p>It was an idea I had harbored since many years ago, one I never had the courage and power to act on. I envisioned a physical form, and slowly, found my body obeying. My arms, legs, and torso gradually manifested; solid and muscular. It was all but a borrowed appearance, one I chose to take after knowing how much Lio longed to see him. I was born from his mind, it was not difficult to tap into his innermost emotions and discern this.</p>
<p>He was startled when I hugged him, and even more so when he recognized who I was emulating. He made a sound of protest, and I barely managed to stop him before he could turn around.</p>
<p>“You must not look,” I said, in a voice that was not my own, but a mimicry drawn from his memories of Galo Thymos. “You must not look, or the illusion may break.”</p>
<p>“But why?” he demanded as he attempted to squirm free, half angry, and perhaps half flustered. “Why does it have to be him?”</p>
<p>“Your subconscious tells me he is the person you want to be with the most at this moment,” I said. I knew why he wanted to reject this. It was not real. I was merely an impersonation of the actual person. The assumption that he would be doing this, that he was willing to share this intimacy with him is disrespectful. It would create nothing but false expectations.</p>
<p>But I did not care for that. Nor did I want Lio to care.</p>
<p>“We’re barely friends,” Lio insisted, though he eventually went still. His shoulders remain tensed, his voice strained and quiet. “We barely know each other.”</p>
<p>“And you left before you could give it a chance,” I said, and felt him freeze up altogether. It was a strange sensation, this physical contact. I was indifferent to it, but I could understand why Lio craved it. It was pleasant, grounding. Warm.</p>
<p>“I don’t know how to face him, even after everything,” Lio admitted. He, who had always seemed like a child in my eyes, felt even smaller in my arms. I did not move to hold him tighter. I did not want him to push me away.</p>
<p>“You do not have to worry,” I assured. “I think he would treat you well.”</p>
<p>“But I don’t know if I can do anything for him in return.”</p>
<p>“That is something for you to work out together, when the time comes.”</p>
<p>He fell silent at that. Then finally, he released the breath he was holding and eased into our contact. “You always make things sound so simple.”</p>
<p>“Some matters do not have to be as complicated as you think,” I told him. “At least, not to an observer.”</p>
<p>“I suppose so,” he reluctantly agreed. I moved to comb my fingers through his hair, gently smoothing out the knots I came across.</p>
<p>“We can talk about this more next time, whenever you feel like it,” I offered. “But it is time for you to sleep now, little one.”</p>
<p>“Would you stay like this through the whole night?” he asked.</p>
<p>“I will stop if you are really uncomfortable with it,” I said. He did not speak for a moment.</p>
<p>“No, it’s fine,” he finally decided. He felt for my hand, holding on when he found it. “You’re warm, and it feels...nice.”</p>
<p>“I am glad,” I said, and I heard him hum before falling silent once more. I felt the steady rise and fall of his chest as his breathing evened out, felt the last slivers of tension leave him as he slipped into slumber.</p>
<p>He used to toss and turn while he slept, my little one. His pillows would often end up on the floor, his blankets kicked astray. This had changed as he grew up, as his life changed. He barely moved once he had drifted off, barely made even a sound. At a point, it was because he slept lightly, always on guard for ambushes, always kept awake by the voices of the flames.</p>
<p>He was deep asleep now, huddled within the comfort I strived to provide. I held him, and hoped that he could feel this safe many more times in the future, even if it is not in my arms, even if it is not the arms of the man I was portraying. I hoped he would find the inner peace I cannot always give him, I hoped for his security, his happiness.</p>
<p>I hoped he would one day no longer need me.</p>
<p>I was a voice in his head, a coping mechanism he had conjured as a child to help with his invisible battles. I was not meant to exist this long. The fact that I am still here, my consciousness and presence still so obvious to his perception, is truly a matter of concern. I should not have merely gone dormant all those years back; I should have disappeared altogether. Only then, it would mean that he had outgrown me and gained what he had badly yearned. It is only with me gone, that he can truly begin healing.</p>
<p>“When will you go back?” I asked one day, while we were watching the clouds drift across the sky. I thought he had been away long enough; even I have grown complacent about being with him.</p>
<p>And soon, he promised, eyes bright with wonder as he gazed. “Don’t you think that cloud looks like a bunny?”</p>
<p>I looked towards where he pointed. “I think it looks more like a puppy. Do not change the subject.”</p>
<p>“What else do you want me to say?” he laughed. It was a sound I adored, it was a sound I hoped he would continue to share with the world.</p>
<p>“Do you feel it has been worthwhile?” I asked, after realizing that I, in fact, did not know what else I wanted him to say. He pondered over my question.</p>
<p>“You might not believe it, but I haven’t felt this relaxed in a while,” he said later, despite the numerous troubles he had encountered while looking for ways to sustain himself. “And I even got to spend some time with you, so I think it’s been more than worthwhile.”</p>
<p>“That is a relief to hear.” I softened at his words, and I reconsidered what I was about to say next. I did not want to break it his heart. But I knew it might be even more difficult if he never found out.</p>
<p>“Lio, there is something I must tell you.”</p>
<p>He sensed the change in my tone, and frowned slightly. “What is it?”</p>
<p>“We cannot stay like this.” The words were unexpectedly difficult to utter. “We must not let this continue.”</p>
<p>I should have thought about ways to articulate myself better before I started this, I realized. It had only come out sounding vague and needlessly foreboding.</p>
<p>“Do you mean we can’t keep speaking to each other?” Lio ventured. He had always been intelligent in guessing my intentions; perhaps the connection we shared contributed to it as well.</p>
<p>“I will always be here, as part of you,” I assured, “but it is best if you could stop hearing my voice.”</p>
<p>“I don’t want that. You’re my friend,” he said, simply.</p>
<p>“And you will find many other new ones, friends and companions who would love and care for you just as much, if not more, than I do.”</p>
<p>“They won’t be the same,” he insisted, though I could hear that his heart was not in it.</p>
<p>“You must let me go, little one. It is for the best.”</p>
<p>“You don’t have the right to decide that.”</p>
<p>“That is true,” I said. “You are the one who has decided, deep down.”</p>
<p>It stopped his argument. He knew too, that the day would come, that the day had to come.</p>
<p>“...I will miss you.” There was a quiver in his voice, and it pained me to hear it. Still, I must go on. It was for his sake.</p>
<p>“I will be here. I will never leave you.” I resisted the sudden urge to once again manifest and reach out to him. “You have already spent many years not knowing I was with you. You will be okay.”</p>
<p>“I’ll be lonely without you,” he confessed, quietly. “I <em>was </em>lonely without you.”</p>
<p>“When the time comes, you no longer will be,” I said. “I promise you that.”</p>
<p>“And when will that be?”</p>
<p>“We will both know when it happens.”</p>
<p>“Okay.” He squeezed his eyes close, and took a slow, deep breath. “Okay.”</p>
<p>We did not mention it again after that. It was easier to continue in ignorance, than to let an inevitable haunt us. Lio soon began retracing his steps, and our journey back to Promepolis was underway. We still spoke and acted as we did before, still jested, still snarked, still talked about anything and everything that came to mind. Lio only asked to be held to sleep more, and I was more than happy to oblige. I would not have the chance to do so again, in time.</p>
<p>I was not going to suddenly disappear. It would be a process: my voice may grow softer, or it could be akin to a radio transmission breaking. Even I am not certain, I only know it would happen. Over many nights, I held him, and a part deep in me wished over and over I did not have to let go.</p>
<p>Eventually, Lio made it back to the city. He had not known where to go and who to seek at first. He had not kept in contact with any of his acquaintances; we did not know how and where to find them.</p>
<p>Except one.</p>
<p>Lio had tried his best to clean up before he returned. He'd done whatever he could to wash away the dirt and grime that clung to his body after months of living away from civilization. He'd tidied up his nails, hair—even patched up the tears all over his clothes. But he still garnered strange looks whenever he steeled up to ask for directions. It could not be helped. Some might have recognized him from his time as the Burnish leader. Most were likely simply wary towards someone who looked unkempt and exhausted in the middle of a bustling city.</p>
<p>He stumbled upon a stroke of luck when he finally found Burning Rescue’s headquarters. The shutters to their garage was open, and there were no security staff to stop him. Lio hesitated for some minutes, unsure how he should approach. It would be extremely awkward, to show up out of the blue here like this.</p>
<p>He trudged closer; the first to notice him was the pilot girl whom he was briefly acquainted with during the events nearly a year ago. She had been carrying a stack of boxes from one side of the garage to the other, and she stopped when she realized who it was standing outside.</p>
<p>“Oh, you’re back!” she greeted, her features lighting up with a warm grin. She then turned to shout over her shoulder. “Galo, Lio’s here!”</p>
<p>Lio’s heart fluttered so strongly that even I felt it. Galo tumbled out from a mound of what seemed like machinery and spare parts, his bare face and arms stained with what could have been motor oil. He yelled Lio’s name, once, as he raced over. Excited, puppy-like.</p>
<p>I watched as he pulled my little one into a tight hug with a stream of chatter and protests. I watched as Lio hugged back and spoke laughingly to ease his worries and complaints. And as I watched, I knew I had been right. Galo Thymos would certainly treat him well, and Lio would have no problem reciprocating his actions.</p>
<p>Lio was fed, fussed over, and later reunited with Meis and Gueira. There were many things to settle, after his unexpected departure. It would take time to tend to all of them. But it would be alright, he was supported by many wonderful, capable people. The warmth he yearned for during his wander was given to him many times over. Here, where he realized he could still call home.</p>
<p>I watched as he slowly, slowly filled the hole left behind by solitude with his own newfound passions and ambitions, joy and love. Lio Fotia was a boy who loved, and was loved fiercely in return. This, I knew, would never change. It is who he had been, and who he will continue to be.</p>
<p>Every day was a flurry of information to process. Every moment was time spent readjusting, struggling, trying his hardest. It was how it was to live brazenly, to feel alive. To have his hard work rewarded, to fail and force himself to try again. It kept him distracted, and he enjoyed it with all his heart, even with all the frustrations that came with it. His current days used to be fantasies he refused to even imagine having; he was determined to not waste even a minute of it.</p>
<p>We still spoke, in brief moments scattered across the hours. Today, he once again told me how much he was having fun, asked if I saw the things he did that he was very proud of. Still a child, deep down. Still my little Lio, no matter what.</p>
<p>And yes, I said in response, though I already knew. “You are doing amazing.”</p>
<p>He turned, just slightly to glance over his shoulder. As if he was aware that I had always preferred to hover behind him. I watched as he perked up at a call of his name before he took a deep breath. I watched as he left, as he moved further and further away.</p>
<p>It had taken months—years, even. It was a progress that exploded into motion but slowed down just as abruptly. Nevertheless, he had made it to where he is, and I willingly accepted my silence.</p>
<p>He could no longer hear me. He will never hear me again.</p>
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